The Football
by Jeneral2885
Summary: Skates is posted to Washington DC to carry the world's most deadly briefcase. But it turns out not to be a normal assignment. Features some JAG characters and some NCIS characters, though not classified as as crossover.
1. Chapter 1

_NB: Oh another Skates story. Before you moan, this one will be one of the ambitious yet after "A New Love"._

_The President referred here is not that of any present or past US President, although based on the JAG timeline and thus years, it is around the mid-2000s._

_I, the author, have no knowledge of US nuclear command and control structure, and thus definitely no idea of how the US nuclear briefcase, or "The Football" really works. Most of what is described here is derived from previous movies and fiction books, plus quite a big of imagination._

_This story is set just after Harm was cleared of murder charges against Lieutenant Singer and around the episode "Lawyers, Guns, and Money." I've tweaked it so there's no mention of he Turner case and it helps by eliminating Mac from the picture—again!_

_Before any of you comment that Skates as a NFO/WSO shouldn't be an instructor, I'm stretching the aviator training part. Besides, it's fiction._

**Tidal Basin, Washington DC**

**0500 hours**

It wasn't the job she dreamed of, not after travelling thousands of miles and navigating through tons of paperwork to reach this capital city. Martina Gomez was her name, a Bolivian girl who was born into poverty and nearly being forced into prostitution. Martina was not exactly her original first name; the missionaries who found her cramped in a truck gave it to her after they failed to pronounce her original name. But it was them and their organisation that brought her to what she heard was the "Land of Opportunities". Martina always wanted to be a cook—she had seen her mother work tediously in the kitchen before the lady passed away. But once Martina arrived in the city, no outlet, even the smallest food stall wanted to employ her. "We take in our own first," was the common answer she got, although she failed to understand the meaning. Finally, she found this position of a park cleaner. It certainly was not her dream, but at least it would give her some American dollars to repay those who helped her along the way, plus increase her chances of living in a better accommodation.

The job demanded her to rise early, though it was not something new to Martina. Despite the odd hours, Martina was always on time, her cleaning trolley squeaking and thus breaking the silence of the morning. The only people she would disturb were those homeless vagrants sleeping on the sidewalks or underneath the various trees. By now, many of them were used to their wakeup morning call and she would return their greetings.

It was just as she turned the corner when she spotted a huge lump on the ground. Moving closer, she could tell it was a human body, and she guessed it was another homeless person sleeping out in the Tidal Basin. The morning wind suddenly blew, and she caught a strong stench coming from that lump. Gently poking it with her broomstick, she let out a scream as a horde of flies burst out from the shape.

**USS Patrick Henry**

**Somewhere in the ****Mediterranean**

**Thirty six hours later**

"No... a little higher, a little higher, damn it, I said a little higher. Don't easy back too sudden...oh... SHIT!" Lieutenant Commander Elizabeth "Skates" Hawkes braced herself and closed her eyes thinking this was the end...no the beast she was in suddenly stopped. Skates snapped her eyes open and shook her head. Yes, she was back on the _Henry_, the ship was bobbing up and down, the multi-coloured shirts were buzzing around the deck. A snap-hiss, and the canopy was opened.

"We're back, ma'am," the FA/-18 pilot, Lieutenant Christopher "Buzz" Stead remarked, as he lifted himself out of the "front seat" and climbed down. Seconds later, Skates got out to, but shrugged away the protruded hand that offered to help her down. Drawing up to her full five feet and two inches, she bellowed, "What the hell were you trying to do, Lieutenant? Commit Suicide?!"

"I was correcting my approach..."

"And I was giving you crystal clear instructions ! Damnit all to hell, Buzz, this is the fourth time you've not been listen to me as your instructor! Look," she gestured, "you caught the 'one wire' yet again! What is your wish? To be an aviator or to have an early death?"

"Ma'am..." But before the green naval aviator could reply, Skates stormed off to the hatch and in her rage collided into her Squadron XO, Commander Billy "Panther" Dawkins. "Easy there, Skates, I know you're having a rough time with the newbies."

"Rough time Panther? It's hell the minute I enter the cockpit with those guys. I can't recall aviators this clumsy since my time as a Tomcat RIO and now as Super Hornet WSO," she groaned at her superior. Technically she should have addressed a superiror with more courtesy, but Panther and Skates has a close working relationship.

"Missing the ol' Tomcat and Batman aviators, Skates?" His comment brought waves of memories of her time with her old squadron. The aggressive and reckless X-Man, the arrogant Bommer, the by-the-book Tuna and of course, the best of the best, Harmon Rabb. Skates missed Harm as her main driver. He as an aviator was everything that a back-seater ever wanted...

"By the way, I was expecting to run into you. The Big Man wanted to see you in person. Now." The "Big Man" was the informal name for the task group commander, Rear Admiral (Upper Half) Gordon Lawrence.

"The Big Man? What ever...I haven't done anything wrong have I?"

"Not that I recall. But seeing the Admiral when none of us poor ol' aviators haven't has got to mean something big. Good luck with him."

Super Freakin' Shit, Skates thought, passing her helmet to a passing Petty Officer to stow. Her XO was right, there was something amiss when a two-star ask to see you in person.

"Enter," cam the sharp reply to her knock. She did so and snapped immediately to attention. "Lieutenant Commander Hawkes reporting as ordered, sir!"

"I hear you just let loose you anger and the new aviators, Commander?" The Admiral started, rising from his desk. He was a six foot two tall man and most definitely towered over her. "Sir," she replied, hoping this wasn't going to be a long critical review of her training procedures. "I do apolo..."

"At ease Commander, you've not on trial here for your training or how you handle your juniors. Have a seat," he gestured to be cushion chairs, the luxury which was entitled to senior officers. With a sigh of relief but a bout of curiosity mounting, she did so and he dropped an-inch thick red-covered file onto her lap, the words "TOP SECRET Level Four" typed diagonally across the cover.

"You might wonder why I called you straight up here and why an old foggy sailor like me wants to see a young O-4 like you," he continued, noting her momentary shock. "Go a head, open the file." Flipping through the first few pages, Skates stopped at page three which read:

_Lieutenant Commander Elizabeth Catherine Hawkes, USN to report to the White House Communications Agency section, White House Military Office, Washington D.C. to hold and protect the Nuclear Briefcase that links the National Command Authority to the nations..._

"Oh my gosh, I'm to carry the Nuclear Football?!" she gasp out loud. Coming from a family who lived in various cities along the East Coast, she had heard stories from her relatives about the scare of nuclear war, with SAC Bombers flying over head, nuclear shelter drills and city evacuations. She especially heard stories of how her elder relatives thought the Cuban Missile Crisis would really go nuclear and flew away to South America. In college, she took a module on Cold War History and thus learnt the political and military implications, including the formation of the nuclear briefcase. "I mean sir, this is really a shock. I...I thought you have to have special clearance or something..."

"Yankee White clearance. It is special but not something that extraordinary. Those higher up probably did a good background check before sending you this change of orders."

"But..." Skates was slightly disturbed that they was, or could have been, a background check on her life or her whole family without her knowing, but remembered she was in the United States military. "...I thought you have to be someone special or something to carry the Football. I mean, sir, I've never been posted to STRATCOM or a any special weapons post or anything like that. My whole career has been as a NFO on carriers."

"You don't have to be. In fact Commander, I myself had a six month duty of carrying the football, not even having had a high command position myself. Besides, you're Tomcat and Super Hornet Wizzo right? The latter is still cleared to drop B61 bombs and I'm sure you were taught how to."

"Oh..yeah those," she vaguely remembered that part of her conversion from the F-14 to the F/A-18 E/F. "But really sir, what exactly will I be doing? Being handcuffed to a huge suitcase everyday and walking behind the President?"

The Carrier Strike Group Commander gave a short laugh that did not exactly easy her anxiety. "Commander, you've been reading too many science fiction novels or watching Hollywood shows. No officer carrying the Football ever gets handcuffed to the device; you basically carry it like a normal carry-on bag. You don't just walk and sit with it 24/7: There are mock SIOP exercises where you will play a key role, evacuation drills and liaising drills with the Pentagon and STRATCOM, observing global nuclear weapons proliferation and other task by the WHCA or WHMO." SIOP, as Skates learnt before enlisting, was the Single Integrated Operations Plan, the fancy US political-military plan for global nuclear war. The Football was a key part in SIOP; without utilising it to end launch authorisation codes and targets, US nuclear weapons could never be released.

"But sir," Skates began another adamant line. "Can I respectfully refuse this posting? I mean, yeah I might be clearing to hold the world's most dead briefcase but really, I don't think I have the capacity to be such a staff officer..."

"Commander, these orders came up from high and are final. I know you're apprehensive about holding the world's most deadly briefcase. However, it's not that boring or terrible a task as you think it will be. Besides, it brings you direct into the heart of the military apparatus and who knows, if you do your job well, you may get a sling shot into a top command position, way head of your colleagues here."

Skates wanted to object yet again but thought about it slowly. She really did enjoy her life onboard carriers, and despite the training challenges, carrier life was her life ever since she signed on to be a US Navy Officer. On the other hand, taking this posting, would, as the Admiral remarked, bring her close to high-ranking and high-flying officials and the chance to network with them. She flipped through the file and continued "Uhm, sir, but there's no PCS or COLA form here. Am I suppose to find my own accommodation?" PCS meant "Permanent Change of Station", the term for military personnel posting to a new unit while COLA was "Cost of Living Allowance", additional funding for personnel deployed to new locations within the US or abroad.

"It's a DOD posting and a joint forces posting, Commander. You can find your own place if you want to, but 95 or 99% of the time you'll be with the President or his staff, on the road wherever he goes and hardly staying in one location at anytime. I stayed in the Marine Barracks at 8th and I Street, pretty good facilities over there and free chow. I hope that settles all your worries? Go ahead and pack up and clear your duties here. Good luck and Godspeed, Lieutenant Commander Hawkes. I'm sure you'll do us all proud."

Skates snapped to attention and headed back to her quarters. DC, White House here I come she thought. Damn if I have to stay with the Marines all the way. I know just who to call...

**US Navy JAG Headquarters**

**Washington Naval Yard**

**About 24 Hours Later**

"Damnit, ring!" Commander Harmon Rabb swore, as he disconnected and reconnected his room phone for the umpteenth time. NCIS had done a "marvellous" job ransacking his office and misplacing many items. They also did a great job of disconnecting his internet and intranet terminals so much that he had to call technicians six times over to reset it. The rest of his office stuff was finally but slowly replaced, but his phone was still giving him trouble, forcing him to use the administration office phones to take calls and dial out.

Not that there were many phone calls for him. Ever since his name was cleared, Admiral Chegwidden has "punished" him by distributing the high-level cases and Article 32 investigations to the other staff and detailing him only occasional simple and boring cases and administrative work. Harm wasn't even allowed to sit second chair with his close colleagues Sturgis Tuner and Bud Roberts. Basically, he had been sidelined while everyone else save Lieutenant Colonel Mackenzie was provided with proper work. Mac was attached to the CIA, specifically with Harm's friend/fiend Clayton Webb. Somewhere in Paraguay, she told him. The typical "need to know" crap from the CIA. He had tried to dissuade her from taking the assignment and warned her of the dangers but her usual stubbornness said no to him. Harm was basically left alone with nothing to do and no close partner to turn to. Well, maybe not today, he corrected. Bud Roberts had asked him for lunch to discuss a case Bud was handling. That kid is certainly turning into a fine lawyer, Harm thought, remembering the court room "battles" with him. One day he'll...

"Knock!" "Excuse me sir, there's a phone call for you," Harm sat up in his seat to see Lieutenant Harriett Sims, the office administration head and Bud's wife at his door.

"Oh," he replied, not expected any calls, given his "isolation". "Who is it Harriett?"

"Oh, someone you know. Someone both of us know," she grinned.

"Come on, it can't be a secret. Who is it Lieutenant?" Is it Mac, he thought? Would she be calling to updating him?

"Take the call sir and find out," she indicated to a phone.

"Commander Rab..." He began.

"Hiya Hammer!" the familiar voice burst through his right ear..

"Skates?!" He exclaimed. Then catching Harriet's grin, Harm understood the earlier conversation. Harriet after all started off as the PAO on the _USS Seahawk_, where Harm first met Skates.

"Just point and shoot!" She gave her usual call. "Yes sir, it's me. I'm back, States side, just posted back to the old US of A. In fact, I'm in DC right now."

"Oh wow uh Skates, certainly a surprise. We've got to catch up on our stories..."

"Uh yeah Harm that's why I was calling. I'm only free now and wondering if you could meet up?"

"Oh," he glanced at the room clock. "You caught me on my schedule, Skates. I'm going to have lunch with Bud Roberts..."

"Bud Roberts? The junior JAG with you during the Seahawk investigation?"

"Yeah, you remember him. Say, if it's ok with you, you could meet both of us? Our lunch is suppose to be about a case but don't worry, you can fit in. Do you know Tingey Street, the Potbelly outlet? [1] We're going there."

"Potbelly," he heard the scribbling of a pen. "Righto, Harm. See you there!"

[1] _This is a real outlet near the Washington Navy Yard in DC. I've never been there despite staying in DC for a couple of months._

To Be Continued...


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for the reviews. Not sure of the ordering system in Potbellys plus not caring about the dishes on their menu, which can be found online._

_Once again, the Presidential Administration here is not stated, but the political party is Republican. Again, the Command and Control of the US nuclear apparatus stated here is purely fictional, but mostly taken from other military novelists._

_This chapter refers back to Season Episode 19, where Bud (ugh!) gets to handle the nuclear football. Technically, as a Staff Corps officer, ie., a JAG, Baud should not be assigned the football at all—he would never have been trained in nuclear weapons procedures or doctrine (he was a PAO, then Administrative Officer then JAG). Skates, based on JAG storyline is a NFO, but as I mentioned in Chapter 1, she converted to the Super Hornet, which in US doctrine (I believe) has the ability to drop nuclear bombs. That's as close to reality as fiction gets. _

_I'm not sure about the US Navy's/DOD's PCS/staff officers posting. Let's just say Skates sudden PCS is the mystery to be revealed later._

**Potbelly Outlet**

**Tingey Street, Washington DC**

Fifteen minutes later, Harm and Bud, both in their summer whites, entered the bustling famous sandwich, salad and soup outlet that was frequented by many Navy personnel. Amidst the seas of uniforms, the diminutive frame of Harm's former RIO was easily spotted. As if on instinct, she spun around and yelled, "Harm!"

"It's so good to see you...Lieutenant Commander?!" Harm exclaimed finally getting a look at her shoulder boards. "Congratulations, Commander Hawkes, very well done!"

"Thank you, sir, one step closer to you," she smiled her famous smile. "Nice to see you again, Lieutenant Roberts. I understand from Harriett that you two are happily married with children."

"Yes ma'am, and congratulations on your promotion." Harm steered the trio to a nearby table. Just then a civilian bumped into Skates. "Hey!" she cried but the dark skinned man had scooted out of the establishment in top speed. Shaking her head, they all settled down and ordered. Bud had a tomato soup with garlic bread, Harm ordered a roasted vegetable six inch sandwich with fries while Skates settled for a Caesar Salad. "So," she began, "any big news at JAG?"

"Oh, nothing much for me. Bud here is getting more cases, I'm just sitting and advising," Harm replied, hoping not bring up the exact reasons for his lack of assignments.

"I heard through scuttlebutt you had a couple of adventures. Like being sent into the deep areas of Afghanistan on some important hunt. Then violating all known practices on aerial flying, saving a CVBG and getting that Silver Star on your chest. Plus, I caught the last part of the ZNN story where you were unfortunately injured Bud."

"Yeah," the stocky Lieutenant replied, recalling that painful incident.

"Skates...al...most of that is classified..." Harm then stop short in admonishing his former partner. Skates was of course and NFO, now an O-4 and one with possibly high clearance. His manoeuvre to save the Seahawk wasn't exactly Top Secret since part of the crew and his former RIO Lieutenant Jorgenson witnessed it. Neither was Bud's land mine accident classified.

"How's things on your end, ma'am?" Bud returned the question.

"Oh the usual. Now relegated to training the newbies and having a heart attack every time they screw up a landing. It's a PITA." PITA was the cuter acronym for "Pain in the ass."

"So the million dollar question: What brings you back home over here?"

Just then, the waitress came with their orders and drinks. Skates shifted her chair and took a sip of Pepsi, waiting for the waitress to move further away. "Skates?" Harm prompted her.

"Oh, sorry. The Powers That Be actual said not to tell any one. But since I'm amongst friends, I guess can say tell you both: I've been tasked to hold the Nuclear Football." She whispered the phrase, lest the rest of the clientele heard her.

Both Harm's and Bud's eyes widen in momentary amazement and the latter gave a rather loud wow, and nearly knocked over his soup. "Congratulations!" both of them said in unison with Bud adding the respect "Ma'am."

"Thanks, enormous responsibility, heh," she replied, placing a fork-ful of mayonnaise-covered chicken breast and lettuce in her mouth.

"Well yeah, you get to carry a device so precious that you can't lose it and can't lose sight of POTUS. Well, Bud here did once," Harm grinned, patting his companion on the back.

'Oh...sir, please don't remind of that incident," Bud wailed as Skates put on a look of puzzlement. The chubby Lieutenant reluctantly recounted the time he excused himself to the bathroom and lost the Presidential entourage, thus having to walk all the way back to the White House. "Don't worry ma'am, I'm sure you won't...face that scenario." Bud paused a bit as the ringing of his cell phone interrupted him.

"' Scuse me," he muttered. "Yes, yes this is Lieutenant Roberts...what? Oh dear, ok, I'll be there ASAP."

"Sorry sir, new development regarding my client. Have to go." With that he scooped him his soup with amazing speed. "Sorry to break the party. Nice seeing you again ma'am," and with that, the young JAG left.

Harm turned back to Skates and continued, "Ok, Skates, spill it."

"What do you mean?" she said, sort of guessing what was coming.

"I know that look you have on and I haven't seen it since you had those panic attacks back on the _Patrick Henry_."

"Oh Super Shit, Harm," she finally admitted and used his first name. "Remind me never to play poker with you." Taking another sip of her drink, she continued, "it's just this whole posting. I'm not cut out for this sorta thing."

"What's wrong with it? It's quite a high profile staff position and..."

"That's the point. I've spent my life from day one in the Navy flying and staying on carriers. Flying is so much part of my life that I feel like a fish out of water now back on land. And I feel weird in this summer white...I even had to search around to find neutral coloured panties and a normal bra to well." Harm nodded as he knew Skates was a fan of sports bras and her flight uniform, where she could wear any coloured clothes underneath. US Navy regulations 3501.6 and 3501.100 dictated the colour of undergarments for the US Navy's Summer Whites.

"Your underwear choice shouldn't trouble your performance..."

"Well no its just the sudden turn of events. One moment I was super angry at the shoddy junior pilots who nearly killed me. The next moment I was notified to see the CSG as if I was going to get a Hack or a Captain's Mast. Then I get this posting and there's no way I can reject it..."

"Your a F/A-18 back-seater right? You should know how to drop..."

"Yeah, yeah I tried that line with the Admiral. Didn't work. I just don't know. I could fumble in this whole assignment. I could miss the detail like Roberts did, I could fail the open the case properly..."

"Skates...Skates, look at me," Harm interjected, tapping his knife against her plate. "You're just underestimating and degrading yourself. Look, you've faced tough challenges before and this one is no different. It's not an assignment, it's a stepping stone into a wider and more exciting world."

Elizabeth Hawkes sat back and look at her former, no she considered Harm as her pilot forever. "You're...you're right Harm, I'm just overreacting as usual. Still, I don't know, there's something weird about this PCS; it's just so sudden."

"Strange but not entirely unheard of."

"Yeah...ok...actually I asked for this lunch really to get some bearings. I mean I know DC and such, but I just got here and have gotten much sorted. Like no cell phone, have to double check my bank account. Most of all is accommodation. I'm placed at the Marine Barracks at the moment. They say this carrying of the Football will keep me on the road around 90% of the time, but I don't think I want to rest with the olive green men and women. Would you happen to know of a cheap place for me to stay in?"

"I'll definitely look around for you, should have a good range of apartments available," Harm replied. "Speaking of this area, didn't you once mention your husband works at the Pentagon?"

"Oh Johnny? He's at some DOD facility in the Pacific. We've never actually lived together since we've got married and have hardly seen each other for almost a year," she replied, expecting the talk of her hubby to come up. "And my parents moved to Washington state so I'm quite by myself here."

"Don't worry, I'm around," Harm grinned. "Anything else you need?"

"Hmm...not sure...maybe a crash course in Washington politics?" Harm laughed, quickly thinking to his times with Congresswoman Latham. "That will...well take quite a while. If you don't like the politics, ignore as much of it as you can. You're wearing a uniform, not representing a constituency."

Both of them chatted for a while longer before Skates remarked, "Oh, damnit. I'm still on Eastern European Time. Got to head off Harm, don't want to be late for my first meeting at 1600 Pensylvania Avenue. You can reach me at..." she passed him a slip of paper detailing her room number at the Marine barracks, as well as enough cash to pay for her meal. "Thanks a lot for the meet up, sir. Say hello to the rest of the JAG office for me."

Harm stared as his former RIO left, with memories of the time he spent with her in the air on the _Patrick Henry_. And now she's moved on to something extremely important, he thought, while I'm stuck with meaningless paperwork. Getting up, he was about to call for the check when he spotted a familiar face.

"Agent Dinozzo," he muttered.

To Be Continued...


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks for all the reviews. Should be a shorter chapter here._

_Remember this story is set around "Lawyers Guns and Money" and before NCIS inaugural episode, "Yankee White". So no Caitlin "Kate" Todd. Tony and his back-slapping boss only. They'll be enough. _

_Once again, my description for how the "Football" operates is all fiction, but taken from other military fiction writers (easy to guess) and online open sources._

_Skates' exploits over the skies of Afghanistan is an avenue for another FF, maybe._

**Potbellys Outlet**

**Washington DC Navy Yard Brach**

"Good to see you again Rabb, and not in a prisoner's outfit," Senior Special Agent Anthony Dinozzo greeted, extending his hand. It was the NCIS agent who came over to Harm's table, not the other way round.

Harm looked at him and thought for a few seconds. It was Dinozzo who was the "kinder" of the NCIS team, and it was him, well Gibbs first, that re-looked at the case and cleared Harm of any wrong doing.

"Nice too see you too Agent Dinozzo," Harm extended his hand. "Been busy these days?"

"Well not exactly investigating murdered JAGs and arresting their colleagues," Tony quipped.

"Hey, wel..." Harm started then stopped. Dinozzo's sarcastic remark was sort of a lecture. Harm was the one who fumbled and nearly was convicted had Gibbs' team not dug deeper into the case.

"Anything interesting you can tell me?" Harm changed his line.

"Not really," suddenly Dinozzo's phone rang. "Yeah, boss, no...just eating lunch. Ok will be will be back straight after." Closing his phone he continued, "Just as you mentioned that Commander, there's something up."

**Office of the Director of the White House Communications Agency**

**White House Military Office**

**West Wing**

**White House**

**1500 hours local**

"Thank you for making it, Lieutenant Commander Hawkes, please take a seat." "Making it" was much of an understatement. Even though she had a formal letter stating her reason for visiting the White House, the security check lasted around forty five minutes. During which Skates passed through two sets of metal detectors, an X-Ray scanner, a pat-down by a female Secret Service Agent, a check through her navy issue handbag and even her heels. Only then was she provided with a temporary pass and a close escort all the way to this rather stuffy office.

"Thank you sir, I'm ready to start." Her "sir" comment was directed at the White House Communications Agency director, an army Colonel, Andrew Sanders, with a bountiful level of ribbons. There was also another bespectacled man who introduced himself as the White Military Director, Jack Lindsey. Skates had briefly heard about him through Scuttlebutt: He was previously Under-Secretary of Defence for Acquisition, and many in the Navy complained about his initiatives. Before that he was a Senator and Congressman, and the staunchest right-wing politician in the legislature.

The WHMO Director motioned her to a seat and replied, "Just a few more checks, Commander."

She raised eyebrows in surprise. "I thought...I was cleared when I received the orders."

"Just the usually formalities. You do realise the sensitive nature of this post. Now," Lindsey flicked through a file. "You graduated summa cum laude in Electrical and Computer Engineering?"

"Yes, sir." She replied, wondering if they were going to look through her whole college life.

"In your first year, you took a module in International Relations and..." he paused, "you wrote an essay advocating a massive reduction in nuclear disarmament." His tone made it sound as a sentence, but the look on the WHMO Director's face showed otherwise.

Oh shit, they even dug that up? "Um...sir, that was written many years back and my views have changed."

"It was selected by your professor for a college academic journal..."

"Sir, it's not a widespread publication. I believe...I believe that nuclear disarmament can happen but such weapons play a key part in our national defence." Skates chose her words carefully.

"Ok..." He returned his folder. "So you are a veteran of the Kosovo campaign...where you received the Air Medal for pushing another F-14 out of enemy territory?"

"I assisted with that sir; I was the RIO and it was my pilot who flew the fighter." Skates' Air Medal was presented much later after Harm received his second DFC. Word from the grapevine said it was the kind JAG who wrote to the higher authority to give her something for her role in that heroic act.

"...Veteran of also Operation Enduring Freedom, noted for many close in air support missions that were critical in each phase of the campaign." Skates gave an acknowledgement to that statement. Nice to know they picked up her efforts across the last few years.

"Excellent record...your mother's family is British?" The topic suddenly changed. What the hell?!

"Yes...they all are...why, will that be a worry in this assignment?"

"I see your husband is a senior department of defence official in Pacific Command," " He continued, failing to answer her question.

"Uh...yeah...does that mean anything?"

"Well...let's see... and your parents and siblings are registered Democrats...they have a strong history voting against this President and his father."

"I...thought a citizen's political leaning was suppose to be private sir," she replied, getting annoyed with this line of questioning. " Listen, if you fee my family's political interests are going to hinder my duties, I suggest you excuse me and let me head back to a carrier."

The WHMO director glanced at his uniform colleague, then suddenly smiled a smile which Elizabeth Hawkes saw was both amicable and hostile. "We never ask for yes-men or women in this country or its military, Lieutenant Commander. If fact, you in. Welcome aboard."

"O...h," was all she could say. All these intrusivd questions to tell me yes?!

"Any questions before you start?" This finally came from Colonel Sanders.

"Er...what happened to the previous officer at this post sir? Not to be overly judgemental, but these change of orders came rather fast."

"He suffered an accident," was the reply. "Now," he rose, "let's get you acquainted with your new friend."

**US Navy Judge Advocate General Headquarters**

**Washington DC Navy Yard**

**Around the same time**

"Commander, where have you been?" Rear Admiral (Upper Class) Albert Jethro "AJ" Chegwidden voice boomed across the room as soon as Harm stepped in the main outer office. All eyes turned and looked at the former Naval Aviator.

"Sir...I was at lunch with Lieutenant Roberts, I did inform you before hand."

"Roberts returned over an hour ago and do you know what time it is?" Chegwidden's annoyance, no temper was clearly visible.

"Admiral...I didn't exceed my allotted hour.." Harm replied, hoping for a good afternoon. The next reply told him otherwise.

"Well to me you have. Go take the duty JAG's chair and be useful."

"Sir, isn't there already one today? I saw Lieutenant..."

"Commander, do I have to repeat myself? I have a great shortage of staff especially with McKenzie taken away by the CIA. Now take the duty JAG's chair. That's an order."

Harm wanted to push it again, but instead snapped to attention as the head JAG walked off. "It's just one of his days, sir," Harm turned to see Legalman Second Class Jennifer Coates next to him.

"It's ok, Coates, I can manage."

"You sure?"

"Coates, just let it be." The Legalman nodded though she still thought she would press the matter later.

Gathering necessary files, Harm headed to the duty office which was a room filled with cabinets and dusty files. Wiping off the table and chair, he was about to settle in when a knock on the door disturbed the silence. Turning about, he saw a blonde-haired lady about five foot and in a chequered coat. "Excuse me, I'm looking for the legal assistance officer?"

"I'm the assigned duty JAG ma'am, Commander Harmon Rabb," Harm shook her hand and guided her to a nearby chair. "What can I help you with?"

"Well, you can help me find information about my husband. They, the...your navy said he was injured badly in an accident a few days ago but that's I I got. I tried calling and calling but it was either and engaged tone or a voicemail."

Flicking on the terminal Harm accessed the military records database. "What's your husband's name?"

"Laramie, Commander Michael Laramie."

"Bah!" The computer sounded. "There's...no record of him here."

"What do you mean? That's his name. He served in the Navy..."

**Inner Office of the Director of the White House Communications Agency**

**White House Military Office**

**West Wing**

**White House**

The "friend" looked like a normal briefcase that had put on at least several kilograms, Skates thought. It didn't look like a device that could start a war, let alone allow the leader of the free world to destroy the planet several times over.

"It may not look like much," the WHCA Director began, as if reading her thoughts, "but it definitely wasn't designed to be sold on the mass market."

"Now," began another officer, an Air Force officer of Brigadier General rank. "Take a close look at it, touch it, and tell me where the opening locks are."

She bent closer and felt around the whole device. Funnily enough, the whole leather skin was all she could see and feel. "There isn't any," Skates replied, hoping for the session not to turn out to be a magical trick show.

"That's because no one is suppose to see it," replied a second officer, an Army Brigadier General. "Here," he extended a rectangular box, "place all your fingers, thumbs included on this pad." Skates did so. "Now put your fingers back on the briefcase, along the middle." The bag suddenly opened, but only half an inch. Another whirling sound was made and a key pad popped out from the side.

"That was phase one. Now you and only you can open the case." The WHCA Director replied.

"Now, Commander, I hope your memory skills are really truly as great as great as they say they are." The Air Force Brigadier General revealed another device which looked exactly like an automatic dealing machine. Skates had visited Las Vegas once with her relatives years ago but only watched them playing blackjack. "Press the side button." Another whirling sound emitted and then over a dozen "dealing cards" were ejected out of the device. "Pick one card and place it back in the machine. A set of numbers will appear on the screen, but only for ten seconds. Memorise them and remember them by hard." Her heart beating fast, Skates did so and caught sight of the numbers. "9..." as soon as they appeared the screen went blank. "Do it two more times with two different cards."

That part over, the army general gave the next instructions. "Enter the memorised numbers on that keypad." Finally, the whole briefcase sprung open, but only to reveal a black folder underneath. "That's...it?!" She exclaimed then seeing the expressions of the senior officers she mumbled an apology.

"Well not quite Commander. There's more than just opening the whole nuclear briefcase; there's this," he presented a TOP SECRET NOFORN folder over. "You have to also memorise this by hard by tomorrow before we take it back." Looking closer, she saw it was a briefing manual on "Continuity of Government Plans", "Strategic Command emergency operations", "National Command Authority control" and the last "Special Weapons release procedures and options." Nuclear Weapons release, she mentally translated.

"Sign here, Commander Hawkes." That line was repeated at least a dozen times and as soon as the twelfth form was signed, a mobile phone rang.

"Yes...oh...now? Ok, we'll get the officer ready. No problem." Clicking his phone shut, he addressed the rest of them. "We have to finish this later gentleman; POTUS has suddenly an unscheduled trip."

"Huh?" That came from Skates.

"You have to start carrying the briefcase, Commander and accompany the President."

"Like...now?"

"Yes. Welcome to the wonderful world of the White House."

To Be Continued...


End file.
